Heathen Chemistry
by Her sister's keeper
Summary: Rey's dream is simple: to dance for all the world to see. With the help of a scholarship that sees her living within the walls of one of famous architect Han Solo's mansions, that dream is within at is until Ben Solo- prodigal son by day, famous rock star Kylo Ren by night-walks back into the house his father built for him looking for his muse and instead finds Rey.
1. Chapter 1

The house had been empty for too long, the fading sunlight slanting across the dirty wood floors, etching itself into the smoothness of it. It was a fact that made Han's mouth set in a firm line and his brow furrow as he wandered back to the entryway of the goliath structure, thinking of what it would look like if it was being lived in like it was supposed to be as he slowly passed through, room by room.

Once upon a time, this house had been his greatest accomplishment, meant to house his magnum opus, an act of love that outdid any of the architect's other creations. He should know—he designed the glass walls to fill the rooms with sunshine, had set the foundation, had stayed up late to revise plans, to try to perfect everything.

Despite the vacancy, despite the years of un-use clear in how the furniture was covered in sheets, as if pretending to be ghosts, as if to draw attention away from the haunting presence of "what could have been" for the old man, Han couldn't help but be excited, an emotion he had not felt in quite some time. The man scratched at the stubble on his chin again, listening to his wife pacing somewhere in the house above him, probably making up a bed, sweeping the floor, a fine layer of dust having taken over the place, the white sheets that laid over the furniture now a dim gray. In his peripheral vision, he could see the outlines of kitchen appliances as he stepped through to the living room, following the hallway as he passed so many closed doors.

Study. Conservatory. Stairway to the lower level, with the personal gym and a few other rooms that were hazy in his memory now. A dining room that'd probably never be used. It had been at least fifteen years since he last looked at the plans for the grand house, but still, he could still tick off which room was what, even though the hall was dark and the doors seemed to stretch the passageway longer than his memory recalled.

In the end, it had been in vain, and the house had been vacant, save for the occasional use by his brother-in-law, Luke, when he was waiting to fly another batch of tourists back to the United States, their trip to Europe done, leaving the town along the water behind. But now, there would be some use, some life, some music, to fill the void that this building presented. He rounded a corner, finally finding his way back to the house's beginning, looking at the new occupant wearily but with a fond grimace.

The girl was still stuck in the doorway, her mouth sloping to hang open as her gaze tried to take in the wide expanse of the house in front of her, her eyes taking in the front sitting room, the window seat's cushions straining to still be blue despite the dust. She was gasping at how the Takodana sunset was visible in the glass of the sliding door, how it painted the terrace bright reds and oranges, how it settled across the lawn and touched the trees that formed the property line. It made his heart thrum in a way that was both pain and pride in one beat, a recognition that she had been without such lavish settings for so long but still could appreciate it, could see the beauty and admire it, her hands sweeping over the wallpaper's designs as she stepped out of the foyer, light jacket hanging loosely in her arms.

"What do you think, kid? Fancy enough for you?" The old man shuffled his feet, forced the awkwardness away as she glanced at him, a bit of her grandfather peeking through in her wide smile. "It's not quite like Kenobi estates, but I think it'll do just nicely."

"I think it's a dream. It's been a while since I've seen anything quite like it." The girl—Rey, he corrected himself—glanced at the floor, smiling still. "I especially like the floors. It'll be easy to practice whenever and wherever." As if to test her theory, she rose to her tiptoes, footsteps like pinpricks in their accuracy as she moved deftly, reminding Han of why she was here.

Her dancing ability shouldn't have surprised him—she was a Kenobi after. She came from a family of dancers, her grandparents having met at the ballet, her grandmother a ballerina, her grandfather a dancing instructor. His wife's family knew them because of that, but beyond that, and that Rey had come to Takodana as a runaway before winding up studying at the local dance academy, he didn't know much. He wasn't about to ask, either, watching the young woman lower herself back down, her gaze drifting past him, face brightening as she greeted Leia, moving past him.

There was potential in her to be great. If anyone asked him why he let her, a perfect stranger, live in this house that he, famous architect that he was, built for someone completely different, and _for free_ , he'd tell them it was because of her potential, her drive, that this was part of a scholarship that his wife had put together for students studying dance. He wouldn't dare bring up how the local instructor, Maz Kanata, an old friend and an even older pain in his side, had begged him, tears in her eyes and obstinate pride in her voice, to let her live there. To allow her to keep studying, to keep learning, to go farther because of all the students the wizened old woman had taught, _she_ had that unteachable spark, and even better, _a dream._

And even if he did admit that, he wouldn't admit that he had planned on saying no, had actually turned his back on Maz to leave before she forced him to walk with her down the hall, to the practice space in her dance studio, where Rey practiced, unaware of how her fate hung in the balance. He remembered it still so clearly now—they hadn't gone in, just watched from the hall, seeing how her reflection in the wall mirrors danced.

"There's not even a recital coming up." There had been a tremor in the old woman's voice, a tremor that seemed out of place in a woman who barked orders of steel, who told anyone to straighten up, to point their toes, to stay in line. "There's not a recital for months, and yet, she's dancing better than any prima I've seen in my day."

"Maz, I can't…" There had been a slim finger lifted to stop him, to make him fall silent, to hear the next song cue up and echo through the vastness of the studio. The song wasn't some orchestral accompaniment. It was a rock song. Han had heard the chords before, had heard _him_ writing this song, practicing it until his thin fingers bled. Before he had left. His son.

"It's her favorite song to dance to. Interesting coincidence, hmm?" If it had been in a different time, any other circumstance, Han would have cursed the old woman, would have turned on his heel and stomped out. But he watched this girl sway and pick up on her toes, her feet moving in time with every shift of the chords. He hadn't seen so much concentration since Ben had leaned over his guitar and plucked at the strings experimentally, recording the notes on paper and then tape, meticulous, careful, much like her movements. There was a control there, and when she leaped, he wasn't sure what accompanied the other better—her dance or his song.

"The last time you said no to someone and their dream, they left and found it without you." Maz's words were gingerly said, the puffs of air slipping out of age-cracked lips. She sounded breathless with excitement as she watched her student land almost too daintily, shifting into the next movement, up onto one foot, arms overhead as she began to spin at an almost dizzying pace. "Please, for my sake…say yes to her dream. For Ben's sake, say yes."

He had promised to think about it. It didn't take a lot of thought, and if it were in any other case, Han knew that Maz would have smirked, said something about him seeing the light. Instead, she sighed gratefully, pressed the words into the phone receiver as he stood at the almost decrepit pay phone a block away from the studio: "Thank you. I have a good feeling about this."

He did too. There was no hesitation in accepting that feeling, not even now, as he felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him, his wife and the girl patiently waiting for him to tune into their conversation, to rejoin them in the present.

"I think it's just about time for us to get going, dear. Rey has an early morning tomorrow. Isn't that right, honey?" Leia's eyes were still round and wide, despite her age, and she had them alighted on the girl, who flushed with the affection. Han merely grunted at his wife, digging his hand into his pocket to find the keys.

Relinquishing them was an odd sensation, cool metal transferring between his cold hand to Rey's warmer one. He couldn't help but pat her hand absentmindedly as her fingers closed around the keys. "Don't lose them." His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat as if it'd get rid of the burn. He wasn't a crier. He wasn't about to start now, especially as he saw Leia's eyebrows knit together, saw how she chewed her lip, worrying, probably thinking the same thing.

This is how it should have been, handing the keys over to Ben. This girl would never replace him, didn't even know that Han had a son, her face open and trusting, her eyes patient but nervous as if she expected him to yank the keys away. It was that look that had him patting her hand again, to reassure, to comfort, because he was trying to do something right for once.

"If you need to make another set, you can. Just tell the locksmith that it's for me, and he should do it for free. But do that as a last resort." Leia was by his side now, her hand heavy and comforting on his arm as he pushed on, coughing again. "Luke has a set, and we had another set, but…we lost them. A long time ago."

"Let's go, love." Han didn't resist his wife's gentle prodding, patting the girl's hand once more before he turned. It was darker now, the streetlights humming to life as they stepped from the house's threshold into the night, Rey's call of gratitude and goodnight still carrying in the spring's crisp air.

"I have a good feeling about this." Han's eyes drifted to his wife as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed her hair, sighed and watched the breath fog before his eyes.

"Me too, Princess. Me too."


	2. Chapter 2

The house was more jarring in the early morning, the sky still unsure if it wanted to be blue or gray today. As Rey peeled herself from between the sheets, sleep trying to keep her anchored down, the sky settled for a mottled dark shade that promised rain but could still peek light through the curtain's cracks. She didn't mind, the girl stretching as she surveyed her view, seeing how the little town stretched before her sleep-muddled eyes, how the rooftops were so much lower than her current vantage point, how the forest in the distance dwarfed them even still. She tried to wring the enjoyment from this moment as if it was her sweat-soaked towel after her daily lesson and practice.

As she toed the bedroom door open, not sparing another glance back on the soft lilac walls of her room, her blankets pulled back to let the bed air, Rey knew the day would be a long one. Her decision, of course. If Maz, her instructor and her guardian for so long, had anything to say about it, she would be sent home early again, like yesterday. Ah, but yesterday there was a grand reason—her move into this beautiful house, looming from its perch on the outskirts of town, and yet just a brisk five-minute walk to the studio. The girl couldn't believe it still, a burst of energy manifesting itself as she bounced, the movement giving way to a chassé, one foot chasing the other as she danced down the hall.

Her feet already ached, as did her lips from yesterday's smiles but she couldn't help it, the sun attempting to follow her down the hall through the windows, the curtains thrown back to illuminate this dark, sad mood that still sat within the walls. The positions were easy for her feet, her legs, her entire body to shift into, from a _chassé_ to a _balancé_ and then up onto tiptoes. To her, her sleep shirt was a fine replacement for her leotard for the moment as she continued, knowing that she had a few hours to waste before she scampered to practice, the clock in the kitchen just barely finishing it's ticking declaration of 6 am as she glided through. She paused a moment, posed on one foot, bending forward at her waist to lean on one of the counters, to pluck up the note left there.

It was a short little note, just a reminder from Leia to water the plants in greenhouse— _including Han's marijuana plant, I suppose._ The girl could practically hear the woman's eye roll there, much like the exasperated but amused sigh that she had uttered yesterday when she explained that Han only had one plant, and it was only for his arthritis, and since it was Europe, that was fine and legal and ridiculous (at least to her). Rey bit back a smile, rolled her shoulders as she straightened up. The Solos were eccentric folk, the missus being an author who had retired from politics long before she wrote to pass the time as her husband traveled to build his great structures, each one more artful than the last.

Considering that, and now looking about her, it was almost odd to the dancer that he considered this his best work if Maz's quick words to her were true. It was almost simple compared to the rest, each of the other buildings taking up residency in such wonderful capitals as Coruscant, Cloud City, and Naboo, each towering structure a jewel befitting the necklace of each city's skyline. This was just a home—a beautiful one, but still, that didn't change the purpose. It was no cathedral or capital building or grand museum. It was only a house in a little town far separate from any neighboring cities.

However, that musing could wait for more thoughts. The kitchen was well-stocked and as she turned away from the fruit bowl, a plum tight in her grasp, she could see the greenhouse peeking through the wide picture window. It was set apart from the main house, and she sighed, but ultimately it didn't matter—she needed to leave soon anyways, the clock's minute hand lunging towards 6:15. She just needed to shrug on some clothes warm enough to fight the chill of the coming rainstorm, a rumble of thunder faint in the distance. The plum would be just fine for breakfast, Rey supposed, teeth sinking into the tender flesh before she turned the flavor over in her mouth, the walk back to her room less lively but just as brisk as her dance away from it.

 _You could take a rest day and not feel too guilty._ The thought burrowed into the forefront of her mind as the greenhouse's door clasped behind her, fat wet droplets falling onto her hood as she pulled it up, mouth in a firm, unamused line. She thought that every day as her muscles complained at the constant work she put into her craft. This morning's complaint had come as she whisked around the plants, tile cold under her feet despite her shoes, watering can tight in her grasp as she pointed her toes, forced herself to lean forward to dip into an _arabesque_ , leg lifting delicately behind her even as her muscles screamed in protest.

Yes, Rey knew that overworking yourself was a very possible thing, especially for a ballerina. Yes, she knew that she worked too hard at moments and that if she so wanted to, she could pad back into the house and call Maz to excuse herself from today's lesson, and there would be no protest, maybe even relief. She had been dancing herself into a raw, aching husk of a girl since Jessika had pressed that audition announcement into her sweaty palm four months ago.

Coruscant's Royal Ballet had seemed like a pipe dream years ago, when she had run away from that city and her former instructor, only her accent giving that past away. But now, as she remembered how sure and encouraging her fellow dancers were as they clamored around her, practically begging her to promise them that she'd audition when the time came. She had promised and glowed from the praise, from Maz's proud glance and nod before she had called the class to order again. Now, without the worry of working to afford rent, that burden taken away with the scholarship and the house, her focus could solely be on dancing, on grabbing that dream that loomed so close.

But dreams are not accomplished by going easy on yourself. She still had two months left before the audition, and she still had so much to do if she was to meet her own standards. Success only comes with sacrifice, body, soul, heart, and mind. That mantra once again pounded itself into her skull as she tucked her duffle bag under her arm and ran, keeping her eyes down as the rain pricked the earth just that much faster, stinging her eyes if she looked up for more than a moment.

If she got to the studio in one piece, she didn't have an excuse to not go to her lesson. Even if she was bone tired, she didn't have an excuse. She wanted this too bad.

He was there before she had the chance to look up, the ballerina colliding into what felt like a wall of muscle and tumbling back now, her duffle bag flying into the dampening dirt behind her. She would have joined it as well, if it wasn't for the arm that caught her, kept her upright.

"Are you alright?" The asker's voice was sharp but smooth, like the vodka she had once tossed back to prove to Poe that she wasn't a priss. It'd be just as intoxicating, she was sure, if he kept talking, the voice familiar and soothing as if she had listened to him a million times over already.

"I didn't see you there." Her reply was meek, and her back was bowing as she strained to grab her bag, unsure of why she seemed to be resisting the possibility of leaving his arms. He chuckled and she peeked up, feeling the blood rush to her face.

The only fact that she was comfortable with saying about this man was that he was a stranger, either someone passing through or perhaps a new resident. It was stupid of her heart to hope that it was the latter, she knew—in less than fifteen minutes, once she stepped away from him, continued on her way, was at the barre of the studio, he'd be just another face from her morning commute. No one special. She didn't have time for that.

Despite the shadow his black umbrella was casting above them, Rey could see that his eyes were brown, and his hair was curly, his nose reminding her of a Roman bust's features, though the lips were too full to have really belonged on that sort of visage. It didn't stop her wandering mind from imagining what it'd be like to nibble on them and she had to physically shake her head to clear it.

"I'm so sorry—I'm seriously not so clumsy usually. I mean, I'm a dancer, so I pride myself on being graceful and…" She could feel his amused stare on her before she lifted her eyes again to see his mouth pull up into a smirk. "I'm so sorry—I'm probably keeping you from something. I should go."

"I have all day, actually, so you wouldn't be wasting my time." Rey could feel her brow furrow as he grinned at her. Was he serious? Was he…flirting with her? She had to shake her head again, smiling nervously as she bit her lip.

"I…I suppose I'm happy to hear that, but I actually am running late myself." _He must think you're a joke, Rey_. He flashed her another smile before he dropped his arm back to her side and she realized how warm it had been, pressing into her back.

"My apologies then. Far be it from me to keep a pretty girl from her duties." He mock-saluted her, and she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up, even as she clapped a hand over her mouth. "I don't think I ever got your name, miss?"

She was breathless as she stooped down for her bag, trying to give her heart time to stop racing. "Rey. My name is Rey."

"Well, Rey…it was lovely meeting you. I hope I see you again." As if he wanted to be sure that she didn't question her sanity and think that the whole encounter was just some hallucination, he offered his umbrella to her, his hand warm as it bumped hers, her fingers curling around the handle. His name was crudely written there in black marker, and she strained to read it as she nodded and smiled at him before turning and practically sprinting off before she opened her mouth and made herself into a bigger fool.

 _Ben._ The name was simple, and he seemed anything but. She wanted to look back at him, to confirm that she wasn't going mad, that he was real, but no, she had wasted enough time and the rain was coming down harder each passing moment, the tapping on the umbrella becoming more insistent. Her feet slapped against the wet pavement now as she sprinted. She had never been late before—she couldn't let a handsome stranger change that now.

She didn't see this perfect stranger slowly walk up to the house as if it were an old friend. She didn't see the brightness of the key that he pulled from his pocket and how it sunk perfectly in the lock and how, with a quick flick of his wrist, the doorknob twisted and he stepped inside.

Maz barely looked up from the piano as Rey rushed in, her duffle bag landing with a wet squish against the wooden floor. "Did you sleep in, Miss Kenobi? I'm impressed." She glanced at her, expecting shame or some nervous smile, but instead, the girl's face was blank, her eyes on her umbrella's handle.

"Dear, are you alright?" The dancer always beat her here, so she had been worried enough when she had unlocked the studio and Rey hadn't been at the barre. But this distraction? It was unsettling, at the very least.

"It's…nothing, Maz. Just someone I met on the walk here." There was a small smile there on her lips, not the look of concentration she often wore in the studio. "I'm just not sure how I'll return his umbrella."

Maz's eyebrows raised with bemusement at the pronoun, but she said nothing, tucking the thought away for another day, watching the girl carefully throughout the day. Rey's movements seemed distracted, not as smooth as if she was dancing with a partner that she couldn't quite see.


	3. Chapter 3

Ben Solo didn't believe in coincidences. He wouldn't call himself superstitious or cynical, though his looks and general demeanor may lead the casual onlooker to either conclusion, his hair just long enough to curl around his ears, the little sword pendant around his neck and his wide brim hat reminding his manager of a modern-day warlock whenever he skulked into recording sessions or meetings with the label. He had been around life just long enough to know that if things weren't prompted by others' ulterior motives, then it was an omen, some sign of Fate that the winds of his destiny had shifted.

He hadn't a reason to doubt it yet, even when there was a flicker of it the moment that his gut told him to return to the last home he had, to seek respite from the yearlong tour the last album had subjected him. Ben knew that the record label, _First Order Records,_ was pleased with the tour's success and that his alter ego, Kylo Ren, had been perfection as always, always performing, always singing, his masked visage alluring and mysterious to every stadium full of screaming fans.

But as for Ben Solo? He was tired—of dealing with his bandmate Hux, of croaking out the same old boring lyrics night after night after night, of that stuffy mask (even if it did allow him to keep his privacy, allowed him to roam anywhere he so chose without fearing the paparazzi or extra attention). For the first time in fifteen years, he just wanted to be Ben, and so he returned to Takodana. No coincidences there.

He had managed to convince the label to let him take a break with the promise of more songs. He didn't think it'd be an issue—he had written seven albums after all. Seven albums' worth of songs, and plenty more leftover for other bands on the label. His ability to write anything, anywhere, made the most experienced songwriters at _First Order_ jealous…but since coming back, that ability was all but gone.

He blamed the house and the memories that had practically been sitting on the threshold, like some demented family pet who desperately wanted to play. That was no accident, though for once he possibly wished that it was.

Ben didn't take it as a coincidence that it had rained since he had returned, the stairs leading up to his attic studio creaking under his feet as he ascended. It had been five days since he had come back, and the house was still getting reacquainted with him. That would be his excuse if he didn't get any writing done today.

He knew he wouldn't, and the fact that he had excuses prepared instead of songs had frustrated him on the first day but now was just another part of his routine.

Wake up at noon to rain against the window instead of the sun. Drag himself up the stairs, sit at the piano and un-tune it just to re-tune it. Run fingers across the keys and attempt at playing something—anything—original before slamming the cover down again. Head downstairs now, maybe for a shower, maybe for breakfast, maybe for both. Think about going back upstairs, think about it for a second before turning on his heel and heading outside without an umbrella into the rain, and wander until thoroughly lost, then come back late, wondering if he's going mad as strains of music filter through the house, always quiet, just barely out of ear's focus. Fall into bed, restless but also content, he supposed.

The same things, at the same times, for the past five days, and probably forever more. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Ben paused now on the stairs, peering out a window into the front yard below, a grin slowly settling itself on the slope of his mouth as he watched a lithe figure emerge from the greenhouse. Rey.

In his unchanging days, his rigid schedule, she had been the one shifting variable, the one figure whose motion was the only thing breaking the stillness of his life at the moment. He never knew when he'd come across her next—if she'd be walking the same way to pick up groceries, if she'd be on her way home from her ballet lessons, if she'd be watering plants in the greenhouse. (He supposed that it was a small odd job of hers, given to her by his mother at some point or another. It made sense—she seemed to live close by, a fact that pleased and bewildered him, the nearest house being several miles up the road, much too far to walk.)

Ben knew it was silly, practically juvenile to watch a girl from afar and not to have made a move by now. Sure, he talked to her whenever he was fortunate enough to run into her, her hair always damp and curling from the rain or a post-workout shower. Her cheeks always seemed pink, reddening like ripe apples if he ever teased her, asked her about how her dancing practice was going, if he'd ever be lucky enough to see her perform.

He leaned against the stair's railing, watching how Rey seemed to skip along, but no, he knew that she wasn't—she was getting into position, her feet pointing precisely and smoothly as she jumped, the short little hop more graceful than anything he could attempt. Her shoulder bag leaped with her, and for a moment, she was airborne, her landing soft and surefooted, even if it was onto the slick mud. The man felt himself tense, felt his body prepare to bolt down the stairs, out of the house, into the yard, should she fall, but she didn't, her arms coming out for balance and protection just in case, her smile bright and proud as she finished with a flourish.

She still hadn't returned his umbrella, which he didn't blame her for—the rain necessitated her keeping it, and she had tried to push it into his hands several times to no avail. If he was being honest, it was because he wasn't focused on getting the one possession back—his mind was on music whenever she was close by. Phasma, his manager, would have teased him, chiding him gently that he had some love blooming up, that maybe he could finally write a song about the phenomenon.

Ben doubted that he'd even consider her words, even if the blonde Amazon that handled his life for him was almost always right. He wasn't in love—he was merely curious if he could write a song for that little dancer to dance to. He had caught himself a few times humming as he walked away from one of their little conversations, the melody new and different and fleeting, the tune vanishing as he scrambled for his phone to record a voice note. He had considered keeping his phone always recording, especially if he happened upon her, but he seemed more bent on keeping a good first impression than catching the song that ran through his mind, unnoticed and yet vivid with its sound. (This, again, was just another example of things that could not be coincidences, though it'd be nice to just chalk it up to that.)

He'd never get anywhere with this, a fact that he avoided acknowledging, even as he sighed, wondering how long he had been standing here, a quiet observer on a portion of someone's life that should be private, just a moment of silliness to oneself. He felt like he should be ashamed of intruding on this girl's life, even if she remained unaware, but if the guilt came, it left quickly, shrugging as it went. Ben's eyes still stuck to Rey as she darted off, umbrella held aloft even as she twirled before breaking into a run, probably late for yet another practice, taking the music with her.


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend came too quickly for Rey's liking, the morning rain pattering against the roof in time to her steps. Her feet ached from practicing, the little gym in the basement serving as a decent proxy studio. It wasn't quite Maz's studio, but since the ballet mistress had barred her from coming to practice over a small cold, it was a lifesaver. Seven weeks stood between her and the audition, and she wouldn't let a little virus stop her progress. Not now.

Her feet were bleeding just a little bit again, her few weeks-old en pointe shoes just barely past being broken in. A grimace set itself on her face as she felt a bit of blood seep into her socks, ignoring how her teeth chattered. The cold was just something she was negotiating with, something that she could ignore so long as she had a thick sweater on and her phone close by so she could complain to one of her dancing friends. Poe and Finn had offered to come look at the thermostat after practice today, and Rey frowned at the time on her phone. It was barely 1 p.m. Maz wouldn't even be thinking about letting them out of class soon. She'd make do for now.

The ballerina could feel how raw her nose was as she sniffled again, the house chilly despite her turning the heat up just last night. It was one of the odd quirks around the house, and it wasn't the oddest one. She'd come home to dirty dishes in the sink, clean them all while wondering to herself if she had left dishes from dinner the night before and hadn't cleaned up as thoroughly as she thought. Sometimes, late at night, she'd hear what sounded like a piano tuning, sometimes an electric guitar, but in her sleepy haze, she would decide that the house was just creaking. There were many odd things happening in the house, and if it hadn't been for the fact that it was free and more beautiful than anything she'd ever be able to afford, she would have moved back to her apartment the fourth day in.

Han did warn her the house may be temperamental and a bit to get used to, having been empty for so long, to Rey, it felt more like she was living with a temperamental ghost. With a sigh, she stopped walking, glancing around herself, mouth drawing tight. Great—once again, she was lost in this oversized house.

Han had warned her that this would happen, had laughed at how she had insisted that it wouldn't be an issue even after he offered to draw a map for her. Now she understood that laughter, turning around with a glare, trying to retrace her steps and find a common point that she was familiar with, wincing at her feet.

She'd need a map if she ever expected to explore the house without getting lost. At least, that was her justification now, looking around her, eyes drifting to the staircase and then out a window, trying to determine how high up she was even as the rain pounded harder against the glass. Rey muttered a low swear, shaking her head at herself. Of course—she had gone up one too many flights of stairs, too focused on her phone to notice her miscalculation. Her feet had noticed though, complaining bitterly as she gingerly picked her way down the stairs again.

Little mistakes like that were the reason why Rey kept only to the first floor and basement of the house, despite two other whole floors and then the attic beside. She'd only wander up to the second floor to do laundry, but when it wasn't washing day, her laundry remained steadfastly tucked in the bathroom just off her bedroom downstairs. She sighed as she stepped off the last stair step, pausing to glance back up from where she came, squinting her eyes as if she expected to see through the floors with some sort of super vision, the wind's howl in her ears.

Yes, she knew that there was a third floor, and then an attic, but Rey never bothered to consider those after the first night. She knew that there was a piano somewhere up there, had brushed her hand across the dusty keys, but if you asked her to show it to you, she would only shrug. Her life center was in the basement, in the little home gym, its wall mirrors perfect to watch her movements and to correct herself, like this morning. She smiled at the memory of practice, feeling her legs thrumming somewhat pleasantly at how she had leaped and landed, spun and twirled.

Her smile faltered when she heard that odd tuning sound again, a thrumming ping soaring and then falling in pitch gradually. Something in her chest tensed, and it was only after she caught her breath did she realize that it was fear…and that infuriated her.

She walked softly but quickly, her steps echoing still across the slick hardwood floor. Passing her bedroom, there was a flicker of a thought to hide, to wait it out, but Rey grit her teeth and pushed herself forward. There would be no hiding tonight—no pretending that what was happening wasn't, no curling up into herself to forget. She had been done with that when she left Coruscant behind.

This house was one of the steps away from her childhood. Now with wide sweeping steps, the dancer stole into the dark kitchen, her breath shuddering as the noise got louder. She was getting closer, and she could feel the nerves getting to her as thunder crashed and she flinched.

Rey's breath was shaky as she forced herself to exhale, her hand reaching out blindly for something to if not defend herself, then distract this intruder while she ran. Her fingers closed around a plum sitting atop the fruit bowl's pile, and she hesitated as she pressed herself against the kitchen door.

This may be the dumbest mistake I ever make, she thought before she jerked the door open and threw herself through it with a war cry. Across the room, perched on the couch, was a figure—tall, looking as if he was dressed in darkness, his black clothes barely standing out in the shadows of the room. In his arms, there was something long, almost narrow like a club, and Rey felt her arm cock back and fly forward, hurtling the fruit as hard as she could as the figure looked at her, making the move to get up.

Within five seconds, there was a grunt of bewilderment and Ben Solo stood, guitar in hand, soft plum flesh barely staining his face but bruising his ego. He groped for the lamp's switch, and light flooded the room. His eyes narrowed at the girl in the doorway, her stricken face caught between fight and flight, her lithe body looking as if she was about to spring at him or past him, to attack or run.

"Rey? Why the fuck are you in my house?"


End file.
